Rampion
by arainymonday
Summary: All-in-all, Barry could have done worse than to latch onto a thief with a flare for the dramatic. A retelling of Rapunzel/Tangled. Written for Coldflash Week 2016, Day Two: Fairy Tale AU


**Title:** Rampion **  
Rating:** PG-13 **  
Warnings:** none **  
Pairings:** Barry/Len **  
Spoilers:** none

* * *

 **Rampion**

The mechanical whir of the pipeline door opening rouses Barry from some state of consciousness caught between awake and drifting. He scrambles to his feet, preparing himself for whatever Eobard torments him with today: a retelling of his mother's murder, taunts about the future, pain.

Before the door is fully open, he can tell that the person standing behind it isn't Eobard. The man is dressed in black, tall, with shaved black hair flecked with gray, and striking blues eyes. Barry glares at him through the opening door, braced for whatever new trick of Eobard's this is. He shifts to balance his weight and clenches his fist, not because he can win in a fight against this man or outrun him, but because he still feels the instinctual pull to prepare.

Barry's cell is always parked here right in front of the pipeline door as a constant reminder that he is Eobard's priority and he will get no peace until he cooperates. The stranger makes no move to disturb Barry's peace. He observes the pipeline with a critical eye. His gaze sweeps the high ceiling and curves around the walls before resting on Barry in his cell again. Barry feels something warm and bright ignite in his chest. Hope, maybe. Except he's forgotten what hope feels like, so he can't be certain that's what the warmth and brightness is.

"Why are you here?"

The glass muffles Barry's voice, but the stranger shows he can hear with sharpening attention. He takes a step forward and it's a swagger like he belongs here. A spike of fear sends Barry's heart beating wildly.

"I'm a thief," the man admits. "Why are you here?"

A thief. Nervousness escapes Barry's lips as laugh. The stranger isn't supposed to be here. There's a hole in Eobard's security somewhere. This thief was smart enough to find it and brave enough to exploit it.

"I'm the most valuable thing in STAR Labs," Barry answers.

The thief cocks an eyebrow. He pats a large, clunky gun with glowing blue lights strapped to his thigh. The memory if ice crystals forming on his skin sends a shiver down Barry's spine. "More valuable than this?"

"Way more valuable. I'm a speedster."

The thief is smart enough to see the opportunity and brave enough to seize it. Exhilaration sings through Barry as he takes the first step outside of his cell. Fear overwhelms him when he takes the second. Eobard could return at any moment.

"How about we make a supersonic getaway before Reverse-Flash makes an appearance?" the thief asks.

Barry swallows thickly. "Umm ... so when I said I'm a speedster, what I meant was that I'm a latent speedster. My metahuman gene hasn't exactly expressed itself yet ..."

Barry trails off because the thief's already grim expression has turned icy. "So you're useless to me."

During his years at STAR Labs, Barry has become familiar with building security. There are alarms, magnetic locks, and cameras everywhere. There's no escape without the person who found a flaw in the system. He shadows the thief through the curving hallways.

"Actually, I know a lot about Eobard, or Reverse-Flash, I guess is what you call him. What should I call you?"

"Nothing, since you won't be seeing me again."

"Okay, but for, like, right now." The thief doesn't answer. "Listen, just ... take me with you. Just help me get out of STAR Labs. I'll leave you alone after that and find somewhere to lay low, but I can't stay here. You have no idea. The things he does to me ..."

The thief's normally fluid motions turn sharp as he rounds on Barry. His gaze is intense, searching, furious. It feels like electricity on Barry's skin. He draws the cold gun from its holster, and like a memory coming to life, Barry's body freezes in place while his mind begs him to run for cover.

"The name's Leonard Snart," the thief says. "Central City will know me as Captain Cold."

o

All-in-all, Barry could have done worse than to latch onto a thief with a flare for the dramatic. He's not wild about finding himself in the midst of a gang of criminals who call themselves the Rogues. They're as interested in theft, arson, and mayhem as they are in fighting the Reverse-Flash, as Eobard calls himself outside of STAR Labs, but they've given him a safe haven in a room over the bar where they hang out and don't seem to mind that he doesn't share their enthusiasm for felony offenses.

At some point the Rogues will realize Barry is useless and send him off to fend for himself, or else Eobard will find this place and drag him back to the pipeline. This is the thought that haunts him at night and invades his dreams.

The steam curling off the mug of tea is soothing to watch. Barry syncs his breathing to each new coil of mist and it feels like he's breathing out the nightmare. He stiffens again when he's joined in the kitchenette by Len, as Leonard Snart aka Captain Cold likes to be called when he's not putting on a show for the public. He's less intimidating dressed in gray fleece pajama pants and a long sleeve tee.

Barry sips his chamomile tea. He doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say to the criminal mastermind-cum-antihero who reluctantly took him in. Mostly, Barry spends his days with Hartley talking about science, and when he's not around, reading the books on mechanical engineering he's left behind.

"Piper says you're a chemist and physicist."

"Sort of," Barry says. "I was going to college to be a CSI when Eobard kidnapped me."

"A badge running with the Rogues. What do you think of all this?"

Barry assumes he's referring to the large quantity of stolen materials around the apartment over the bar. Right and wrong seems a lot clearer to him now than it did before. He feels no desire to join the criminal underworld, but not as much aversion as a once future CSI should. He shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe the people you're robbing disagree, but I don't think theft is Central City's biggest problem."

Len seems to like his answer because they finish their tea in silence, and by mutual agreement return to their beds after washing out the mugs.

o

Books about chemistry, physics, and forensics appear overnight. He doesn't say anything about it to Len because he doesn't seem like the type of man to appreciate being called on doing something nice. Instead, Barry sits in an armchair close to the workbench where Len is tinkering with the cold gun while he reads.

It turns into a precise routine. At 7:45pm every night Len sits down at his workbench and fills in a few more details about the cold gun on the schematics he's drawing, and Barry settles into the armchair with a book labeled with Central City Library's property stamp and uses the due date slip as a bookmark.

"You don't steal from libraries?" Barry asks one night.

"I'm a criminal, not a sociopath."

Barry laughs softly. "Interesting definition of sociopath. What else is out of bounds?"

"Anything that hurts children."

"What about innocent people?"

"No one is innocent."

"I didn't take you for a nihilist."

Len looks up from the cold gun. The blue light casts his face his sharp relief and makes his eyes appear to glow electric blue. "If I agree to not do anything that hurts innocent people will you stop philosophizing?"

"Yes."

"Fine. It's a deal."

o

He knows it will happen sooner or later. He can't accept the Rogue's hospitality and become their friend without doing anything to pull his weight, but the moment feels terrifying all the same. He's been skirting the edge of a cliff, but now he's dangling from the ledge.

"We need another person for our next heist."

Barry rubs the back of his neck. "I know I need to help out around here, like Hart and Shawna, but ..."

"We need a lookout," Len says. "Someone who's good at observation, calculating probabilities and risks, seeing the details others miss."

Barry exhales heavily and flops backwards into the worn couch cushion. "Damn it, Len. What's the mark?"

"A bank."

"No way!"

"It's a vault in a private bank. So don't worry. All the little old grannies pinching pennies so they can send ten dollars to each of their grandkids at Christmas will be just fine. I promised that no one innocent would get hurt."

Barry sighs noisily. "I'll think about it."

They both know what he's going to say. Most of what the Rogues have stolen has disappeared into Hartley's tech or the elaborate heists to steal their weapons or to help the people left without homes or jobs because of the damage the Reverse-Flash has caused while hunting for Barry. They only have so many resources and only so many ways to get more.

There are only so many people to blame for this reign of terror and only so many ways Barry can help end it.

o

Barry stares at his reflection in the water-spotted bathroom mirror. Pounding on the door startles him and he grips the edge of the sink to ground himself. The sound of protesting metal precedes the door falling away. Barry stares levelly at Len as he appears in the empty jamb.

"You took it off its hinges? For real?"

Len stares back at him. "I didn't know if this was a crisis of conscious or a crisis. Guess I know now. Sorry to intrude."

Barry rolls his eyes as Len turns away with a flourish and reaches out for him. His hand lands in the crook of Len's arm and draws a glare, but he doesn't pull away from Barry.

"Don't be so melodramatic. It was somewhere in between. I just helped you _rob a bank_."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Len parrots. "You were a lookout. Fighting the Reverse-Flash isn't cheap."

"That's not why you robbed a bank."

"No, but it's why you did. Make your peace with it, Barry."

The edge of the sink bites into Barry's palms as he pushes himself away from the vanity and follows Len into the living room. He's divesting himself of his blue parka and cold gun holster. His goggles hang around his neck.

"You're so full of shit." Anger flashes across Len's face, and just as quickly, sinks beneath the surface. "You're so obvious about caring about more than yourself."

"I care about the people I care about," Len says.

His voice sounds sharp as knives because of the softness his words reveal. Barry turns his gaze to the middle distance out the window and then back to Len.

"You are ..."

"A thief, a liar, a killer."

"Who saves people and gives them hope. You make my head hurt."

Barry's fingers itch to reach out for Len, but he settles for a safer target. He traces the lenses of the goggles where they rest against Len's chest before he touches the warm, soft fabric of the black sweater beneath them.

"Barry ..."

"You make me ache."

Barry's fingers curl into the fabric of Len's sweater. For such a subtle movement, it brings them so much closer. He smells like cold. His lips are dry, but soft. His kiss is light, halting, warm, everything he's not. When their lips part, he rests his forehead against Barry's and cradles his jaw in both hands and stokes Barry's cheeks with his thumbs.

"How do you know?" Len whispers.

"I see the light in you."

He closes his eyes like the words pain him, but tilts his head and kisses Barry light, halting, warm, everything he is.


End file.
